


Quieting the light

by VoidySkelecat



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Armor Kink, BDSM, Blindfolds, Blood, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Scratching, Size Difference, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidySkelecat/pseuds/VoidySkelecat
Summary: A warrior and his greatest enemy seek respite from the gods' unending cycle.
Relationships: Garland (Final Fantasy I)/Warrior of Light (Dissidia)
Kudos: 33





	Quieting the light

  
  


“I expected more from you. Has the weight of their expectations really weakened you so?”

Blood dripped from the gash on the Warrior of Light’s forehead, threatening to spill into his eyes and blind him. His muscles shook and screamed with every movement, but he still wiped the blood from his face and tried forcing himself to his feet, with little avail. It was no good. He’d reached his limit some time ago and the most he could do was kneel, barely supported by the Icebrand stuck cleanly in the earth.

Garland loomed over him as he did in any given situation, his cleaver of a sword slung over his shoulder as he took in the sight of the smaller man prostrate on the ground before him. They engaged with the intent to disable one another, not to kill, so he did not finish what he’d started. Injuries were inevitable in these fights, and he bled freely from several armor cleaving cuts that were already trying to heal.

They’d both be fighting fit within the hour, but the Warrior doubted they’d be locked in combat again so soon. At least not with one another. There was always the threat of a monster or manikin crawling from the woodwork to make their lives difficult.

Fortunately, there was a reason they were favored by their respective gods (damn them both) above all others, and such encounters rarely ended with them receiving so much as a scratch.

“Shut up,” the Warrior hissed. “For once in your fucking life.”

Metal creaked as Garland shifted his sword and inclined his head to look down his nose at his rival. There was something deeply thrilling to see him broken and weak yet still eager to bite and scratch and spit until the very end. His perfect antithesis given flesh and the ability to fight and to kill. To fight to end a war. To fight. To fight. To fight until he grew jaded and fought purely for the sake of fighting, no different than the one he claimed to resent.

“Make me, then.”

The Warrior of Light laughed dryly and managed to fight his way to his feet one last time. He couldn’t lift his sword, but he glared up at Garland like a dragon with its teeth ripped out.

“I will, just as soon as I-”

His words were snatched away by a pained grunt as he fell. His knee struck the ground hard and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the pommel of his blade. Pale lashes fluttered closed and he let out a whispering sigh of exhaustion.

“Take me to Cornelia. I’d rather not return to the airship in this condition.”

Prishe would have an aneurysm.

“And we still have business to attend to.”

Garland opened a portal and helped the Warrior to his feet. He assisted him in sheathing his sword before hauling him up in a bridal carry that would have been embarrassing had he ever been the type to care. They stepped through the portal and took a brief waltz through the void before emerging inside one of Cornelia castle’s many immaculate rooms. There the Warrior was gracelessly tossed on the plush covers of a bed, making a mess of it with the earth and blood that clung to his armor.

His body really didn’t like that.

Garland laughed at his rival’s pained noise and stalked across the room. He began freeing the man of his armor. He was not gentle, and by the time the last of it was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, the Warrior of Light was cursing and feeling worse than ever. Garland paused briefly and eyed the man’s torn clothing, as if indecisive about whether he should remove it all or not.

He didn’t mind the roughness. It was part of the game. And if he told him to stop, he would.

“Get it over with.”

With those magic words, his clothes were ripped from him and he was left naked and bleeding. In a final act of mercy, Garland manifested an X-potion and a cloth and began treating his wounds.

Skin knit itself together and a pleasing warmth spread out from where the potion touched him. He closed his eyes and focused on the touch of the cloth and the occasional scrape of Garland’s claw gauntlets against his skin. Abruptly the cloth vanished and claws dragged down his chest and over his stomach, not hard enough to cut, but just enough to sting. His breath hitched and he arched into the touch.

Garland let out a pleased rumble above him and then the claws were gone.

The Warrior didn’t quite pout, but he’d be lying to himself if he’d said he wasn’t disappointed.

“Now, how would you like our dance to go this time?”

His brain cut back to the people at the airship and their crushing expectation for him to lead. He’d never asked for the role, but it had been thrust upon him regardless. It drained him.

He wanted to be commanded by someone who _ wasn’t _a god with fewer brain cells than a chocobo cock in spring.

“Do as you please,” he finally said.

“Oho, is that truly what you desire?”

“You know the words as well as I do,” was his reply. He opened his eyes and let them focus on Garland. The knight had backed up and had a hand resting on the bedside table, expression kept hidden by his horned helm.

“Remind me, then, so I would know you haven’t forgotten them.”

“Alexander to stop, Fenrir to keep going, Garuda to go faster, and Genbu to slow down.”

“Good boy.”

Gods, he wanted to punch him. Maybe some other day, when he was feeling more inclined to violence. For now, he was too tired to properly top and he just wanted to lay back and be taken care of for a bit.

“Bathe,” Garland told him, nodding to the bath annexed from the main room. “I will return.”

“I hope to the gods above you’re planning on washing yourself too. You’re lying if you say you don’t sweat.”

“Yes. Now don’t make me throw you in there.”

And then he was gone, vanishing in a miasma of shadow.

The Warrior dragged himself from the bed and filled the bath. He then scrubbed himself until he was red, dried himself out, and returned to doze until Garland’s return. Instead of sleeping, however, he recalled the sensation of the knight’s claws sending sparks across his skin. He then recalled his hands full of thick grey hair, pulling as the man drove into him without an ounce of mercy.

The imagery went straight to his groin, pooling in his gut and setting him aching. He let a hand trail down his body, letting it brush over a nipple and gut, before settling just above the white curls beneath his navel. He hesitated, imagining how Garland would react if he walked in and caught him taking care of himself.

Before he could commit, however, there was the telltale noise of portal opening and the din of armor as his greatest enemy reentered the room.

“Hands above your head, there will be none of that.”

He obeyed, the authority in the knight’s voice sending a little thrill through him.

“Put this on.”

Garland tossed him a sash of dark silk and he sat up, tying it over his eyes and depriving himself of his sight. That done he sat with his hands at his sides, obediently waiting for his next order.

They came a moment later: “You will speak only when spoken to and obey orders as they are given. Any act of insubordination will be met with the appropriate punishment. Should this all become too much, you know what to say. Do you understand?”

“Your monologues are beginning to grate on me.”

He counted one, two heartbeats before he was seized by the throat and yanked to his feet. His brain zeroed in on the claws digging into skin and blessed pressure of the hold, not quite enough to deny him his breath, but enough to steal his thoughts and leave him feeling high and dizzy.

“I said, _ do you understand? _”

“_ Perfectly,” _he wheezed.

“If you won’t behave yourself, then I’ll make you.”

He merely nodded.

“On the bed, wrists together above your head.”

He obliged, listening as Garland stepped away and began to divest himself of his armor piece by piece. While the Warrior couldn’t see the other man’s form, he’d seen it enough to picture the hard lines of his body, shaped by unending conflict and crisscrossed with scars from cheek to toe. A good number of those, including the ones indicating “fatal” wounds, had been left there the Warrior’s own blade. Garland wasn’t pretty in the same way men like Cecil and Firion were, but no one with eyes and sense would could call him ugly. So it was a shame the Warrior couldn’t watch his approach, though the anticipation of it was thrilling in itself.

There was a rustle of fabric and then the renewed sensation of claws dragging down his chest, leaving blooming red scores that left him hissing from the mingled pleasure and pain of it.

The bastard had kept on his gauntlets on.

Wonderful.

Garland hesitated a moment, pressing his palm flat against the Warrior’s belly. He lifted it again and circled the Warrior’s navel with one of the claws, light enough to tease, then used both his hands to force the man’s legs open so he could score long scratches down the inside of his thigh.

The Warrior's head jerked back and he clenched his teeth as the heat and pain jumped straight to his groin.

“Use your words, boy.”

“Fenrir,” he hissed out.

“Good. On your knees, then.”

He was on his knees and listening with anticipation as the bed dipped and creaked beneath an added weight. Ah, they were getting straight into the meat of things, then. He _ had _said Garland could do as he pleased, hadn’t he?

He sat back on his heels, tilting his face in the direction of Garland’s. A breath later he was taken by the back of the head. Garland roughly yanked his hair and forced his head down, claws dragging painfully over his scalp. His lips brushed the head of the man’s cock and parted, letting a hot breath ghost over the head.

Garland made a noise. It was barely a whisper, but no less satisfying.

Emboldened, the Warrior reached down, not even bothering to try for permission, and squeezed the base of the man’s cock before dragging his hand up the shaft. This drew another noise and a noticeable shiver from the man, so he took a moment to give special attention to the head, rolling the foreskin over and down again before Garland let out a growl and forced his head down more. His lips were parted and he took a good portion of the man’s length in one go. He opened his jaw as far it would go, feeling’s the head of the man’s girth tickling the back of his throat. The grip on his hair slackened some and he immediately took advantage, gripping Garland around his base and taking more of him, then coming up suckling at the tip.

The Warrior took him again.

He wasn’t a small man. Tears pricked the Warrior’s eyes as he took more of him in, the length invading his throat. He swallowed around it and Garland groaned, hips arching up into the warmth of his mouth. His hips drew back, then pushed forward again and the Warrior hummed, dimly aware of how badly this was going to hurt, but largely uncaring. The buzz only served to spurn the man on, but he kept slow for a time before gripping the Warrior’s hair tight enough to hurt him, and fucking his throat in earnest.

His jaw ached and his throat screamed in protest. Tears streamed down his face as Garland went harder and harder, breath escaping him in harsh gasps and hisses, and the Warrior’s own arousal was a hot, steady ache between his legs. He gripped the larger man’s thighs to steady himself, digging his nails into skin as Garland drove himself closer and closer to the edge.

And then he was gone, ripping himself away before he could come. His own little denial.

He gripped the Warrior by the shoulders a few moments to cool himself down before taking the smaller man by the throat and forcing him onto his back. As eager as he usually was to be choked, this was almost too much.

“Coeurl,” he managed to huff, and Garland’s grip eased. The larger man shifted and the Warrior felt a hot breath at the crook of his neck, immediately followed by teeth sinking into skin.

Ah, he hadn’t expected _ that_.

“_ Fuck. _”

Garland only bit harder, driving another sharp nose from him, before releasing him.

“Ah, and you were doing so well.”

There was a sharp sting as Garland slapped him, opening fresh cuts across his face. He ground his teeth together, only just managing to not make a sound. Garland tutted.

“Which monster haunts your thoughts?”

“Fenrir,” he rasped.

“Good. I wouldn’t expect something so minor to break you. Still, I feel that wasn’t punishment enough,” he took one the Warriors wrists as he said this, lightly brushing his thumb over his wrist. “Perhaps if I bound these, you would learn.”

The Warrior of Light nodded vigorously, eager at the prospect.

“Very well.”

The bed creaked again as Garland shifted on it. A moment later there was a faint hum of magic as the knight manifested the necessary tools.

“Hands above your head.”

He obeyed and one at a time his wrists were secured to the bedposts, displaying him like a man on a crucifix.

“You should see yourself,” Garland purred. Bare fingers (he must have discarded one of his gauntlets) trailed down his throat and down the length of his body. They brushed over his nipples with feather-light touches before taking the hard pebble of one and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

At the same time, his still clawed hand was dragging light scratches down his legs. The Warrior kept his legs splayed open and was panting, eager for some kind of relief. Garland merely teased him further, stroking his inner thighs and drawing ever closer but never touching.

“Garuda,” he begged, the words tumbling from his lips like a plea for mercy.

Garland laughed, a low rumbling noise. “Ah, needy aren’t we? Fine. I think I’ve teased you enough.”

Those calloused fingers brushed down his stomach and through the curls of his mound. His thumb circled and played with the dark head of his dick, drawing soft, needy gasps from his lips. In a rare moment of tenderness, Garland kissed him, swallowing the groan that escaped him when the knight finally slipped a finger inside him.

“Lovely,” he purred, “you’ve readied yourself for me. You may speak now if you wish. I will not punish you for that which you can not help.”

“Fuck,” was all he managed to get out. Garland had begun to stroke his walls slowly, languidly. He arched his hips against Garland's fingers, forcing them deeper. Garland pinned his hips and kept at it for an agonizing amount of time, drawing out his strokes and relishing the way the Warrior’s chest heaved with every breath.

Garland only ceased when his toes curled into the blanket and he came with ragged gasp, heat pooling in his gut and leaving him shaking.

The bed creaked and there was a rustle of tearing plastic. Metal clattered against stone as the remaining gauntlet was discarded.

A breath or two later and Garland hitched his legs up around his hips and pressed the head of his cock press against the Warrior’s entrance.

“Fenrir,” the Warrior said without prompt, and Garland let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

Garland began thrusting into him with quick, shallow movements that had little more than his head entering him. The Warrior dug his heels into the man’s back and let out an impatient huff. Garland gradually plunged deeper and deeper, opening him and teasing his walls. It rapidly grew painful as the Warrior took more and more of him. He was just too damn big and the Warrior couldn’t take all of him even if he wanted to. Not that he was in the mind to make him.

The Warrior relished the sensation of Garland inside him, the warmth of his body moving against him, and the harsh breaths escaping him as began to grow close. He lost himself in it, heels digging harder into the hard line of the man’s back, his nails into his palms.

He came again, holding onto the knight like his life depended on it, body hot and full and protesting. He didn’t quite white out, but his thoughts were so thoroughly scrambled that he almost didn’t register Garland’s voice when he spoke.

“Say my name, Warrior of Light.”

“_Garland, _” he breathed.

With that one word and a final snap of his hips, the fallen knight of Cornelia came, bending to sink his teeth into the skin of his chest and muffle the moan that escaped him.

What followed was a haze of Garland undoing his bindings and removing the blindfold. He vanished, slinking off the bathroom while the Warrior blinked against the faint torchlight. A faucet creaked and the sound of rushing water could be heard.

He returned and swept the warrior up, carrying him into the bathroom and setting him down on the floor of the tub.

With careful hands, he set about washing the blood from the man’s cuts. He then manifested a potion and drenched a fresh washcloth with it, wiping it over the wounds and sealing them. The bruises remained, healing some but lingering in later stages, leaving Garland’s mark ever-present oh his body.

“You bit me,” he said, prodding the bruises when they withdrew from the water and Garland set about rubbing him down with a towel.

“You didn’t mind at the time,” came the reply. The knight’s voice was thick with amusement as he draped the towel over the smaller man’s shoulders and stepped away.

“No, but a warning would have been nice. It’ll be a pain to explain the marks to the healer who gets their claws on me.”

“With the effects of the potion, they should be gone within a day. If you kept away a little longer, then you’d only have to explain your absence.”

Yes, he had a point. Perhaps he could say he was on a patrol, but…

Something occurred to him at that moment.

“You’re asking me to stay?”

Garland was quiet, and the look on his face nearly indiscernible. But if he looked, there was a faint flicker of something hopeful in his eyes that would be easy to miss if he wasn’t so attuned to the man’s expressions. “If you should desire it.”

“I will, then, but only if you’ll allow me my revenge before we part again.”

Garland pushed off from where he leaned against the counter and closed the distance between them, cupping the Warrior of Light’s face in his hands. The Warrior leaned into the touch, but came dangerously close to withdrawing from it.

Intimacy was difficult, and as the pair piled something he wasn’t quite ready to name on top of the dogfights and bedroom romps, he found himself both craving it and feeling revulsion towards it.

Perhaps it was the source of said affections – he and Garland were supposed to be mortal enemies, after all – but everyday he found himself looking past that more and more. They were both beings at the mercy of childish gods with no end in sight. Both immortals doomed to fight cycle after cycle until their minds crumbled and they were left hollow as-

-the manikins.

He was close already, wasn’t he? In body at least. Even though his bled and cried and hurt as a man’s should, he was crystal at the core and his humanity was hanging by a string.

And yet this, whatever it was, sought to reinforce that very string.

“Who am I to deny you?”

He thought that perhaps he wouldn’t mind holding on for awhile longer.

  
  
  
  



End file.
